


Missing Persons

by MrSpockify



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Flashbacks, Human Experimentation, I guess he'd be around 24 or so, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-11-26 00:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18173408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSpockify/pseuds/MrSpockify
Summary: It took nine hours for anyone to notice Peter Parker was missing.It took nine years for him to find his way back to New York.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and rating will be updated as needed.  
> Thanks for reading! :)

It took nine hours for anyone to notice Peter Parker was missing.

It was a Saturday, and after spending some quality time with his aunt, Peter kissed her on the cheek and told her he was going out. Apparently, he had the newest LEGO set and he wanted to drop by Ned’s place to surprise him. She just hugged him goodbye and reminded her nephew that she’d be back later that evening because of her shift.

Eight hours later, May came back from her shift and called out for Peter. He wasn’t home, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. He was probably either out as Spider-Man or spending the night at Ned’s and forgot to tell her. She shot him a quick text asking where he was and made herself a late dinner.

Thirty minutes and two more texts later, she called him. And called him. And called again.  

Then she called Ned. He didn’t know what she was talking about when she asked if Peter was spending the night. Peter didn’t stop by today, ma’am, Ned insisted. She was getting nervous now.

Tony Stark was next and last on her list. If he wasn’t with Peter, he at least had the resources to find him. Except Peter wasn’t with him, and Tony seemed to be having difficulty tracking his phone, or his suit, or the watch he’d secretly put a tracker into. She was becoming frantic.

Over the phone, he assured her that everything would be alright. He’d have FRIDAY run facial recognition on all the nearby security cameras. He’d send out some drones to check out alleyways and tops of buildings. He’d do everything in his power to find Peter. He promised her that the kid would be alright.

They hung up, and May waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Tony called back. She begged for good news, but he had none. All security footage within two miles of their apartment had been wiped and were impossible to recover. The drones found nothing in their scans, either. He had even gone out in one of his suits to look around personally, but there wasn’t anything encouraging.

The only thing he managed to find was an unopened LEGO set sitting in a ditch a couple blocks from the Parker household. He just had a feeling it had belonged to Peter. May cried, because he was right.

As it turns out, nine hours is plenty of time to hide evidence, and long enough to get far, far away from a crime scene.

 

* * *

            

It took nine years for Peter Parker to find himself back in New York City.

After stealing clothes from a corner shop—he vaguely remembers stopping a burglary there once—he pulled his hood up to cover his face and hunched over, trying to blend in with the crowd. They could be anywhere, he thought. They could be watching his every move and waiting to strike.

The streets and buildings were mostly the same, but his brain was foggy and memories of which directions to take were muddled, at best. He took turns, ended up somewhere unfamiliar, and doubled back to start over again. He worried momentarily that perhaps this wasn’t even Queens, or perhaps he was mistaken and lived in another borough. But then things started to click.

Peter passed the Thai restaurant he and May used to get take-out from all the time, but the name of it was different, he was sure. He stepped over a three-inch crack in a sidewalk he remembered tripping on all the time, and wasn’t really surprised they hadn’t gotten that fixed yet. He looked over a fenced-in yard and spotted an old, fat dog sleeping in the grass. The last time he had seen it, the dog had been a spry puppy.

He hurried his pace the more familiar things got, practically sprinting by the time he closed in on his destination. He took the final turn too fast, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement. The apartment building came into view and he nearly sobbed with how many emotions washed over him. Peter jogged up to the front door, and froze. He reached out with a shaky hand and let his fingers touch the tattered and faded renter’s notice.

 _Condemned_.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you so much for the kudos and kind comments. I'm excited for the future of this fic.
> 
> This section has a flashback, and I tried to make it obvious, but just in case: the flashbacks will be in italics and separated with line breaks.

Peter tried not to let panic overtake him. It had been a long time, so it wasn’t totally crazy that his old apartment building was condemned. It didn’t mean anything. Just that he’d need to try a little harder to finish coming home.

The longer he stayed outside, though, without anyone to help protect him, the more nervous he became. He pulled the hood tighter over his face and started quickly walking back to where he came from. His spidey sense was going haywire, but he knew it wasn’t over anything in particular. Everything was dangerous. Everyone was a threat. His senses were broken. _He_ was broken.

He rubbed the back of his neck through his sweatshirt, trying to push away the tingling sensation so he could focus. His first home base was a no-go, so that meant he needed a plan B. Luckily, he had one. He had everything planned out. He’d certainly had long enough to think about it.

Waving a hand, Peter hailed a cab and hopped in the back.

“S-S…” he hissed, his voice trying and failing to come up. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had spoken. He could barely even clear his throat, so he settled for leaning forward and whispering by the cab driver’s ear. “Stark Tower.”

The driver turned to look at him, and Peter almost thought that maybe he didn’t hear him. Before he could repeat himself, the driver rolled his eyes.

“You mean the building they finally tore down three years ago? Jeez, buddy, you been living under a rock?” Peter made a face, because yeah, kinda. But why had they torn down the building? Mr. Stark loved that building. “Do you even have money?” The driver spat, looking angry.

Peter sighed, because no, he definitely didn’t have any money. He stepped back out of the cab and closed the door softly behind himself. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window before the cab drove off, and he grimaced.

Looking back at him was someone completely unfamiliar. His hair was long, touching his shoulders and slick with grease. A beard was trying to grow, but really it was just patchy and sad. His eyes were sunken in with dark circles around each one. A long gash down the side of his face still hadn’t healed, and some blood was still smeared over his cheek. His nose was a little crooked from healing wrong. 

As the cab drove off, Peter reached up, gently touching his nose with the tips of his fingers.

* * *

 

_“How much do you know about your powers?”_

_“I don’t know anything.”_

_Another series of punches to his stomach followed, and Peter held back grunts of pain. His hands pulled at the chains holding his arms up above him on the wall._

_“I’ll ask you again. What do you know about your powers?” The man leaned in close to his face, and Peter could feel hot breath on his lips._

_“Nothing,” he hissed between gritted teeth. A snarl contorted the man’s face, quickly followed by a backhand to Peter’s face. He could feel a deep bruise already forming above his brow where the knuckles had collided._

_“You’re telling me Stark didn’t try to figure you out at all while he had you?” Peter scowled. Mr. Stark didn’t_ have _him. No one_ had _him. “He didn’t do any experiments? He learned_ nothing _?” The man grabbed his jaw in his tight grip._

_“No,” Peter said, jerking himself out of the hold, “because he wasn’t a fucking monster.” He spat a wad of spit and blood into the man’s face. He knew it was kind of stupid, and definitely dangerous, but it was satisfying nonetheless._

_The man leaned back and wiped his face clean, looking eerily calm. “That’s fine. We’ll fix that soon enough.” He glanced over Peter’s body, and the teenager squirmed under his gaze, feeling like a piece of meat. “We’re going to learn everything about you, Peter Parker. You can be sure of that.” With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the man pulled a fist back before smashing it into the boy’s face._

_The last thing Peter noticed before he fell into unconsciousness was a definitive, sickening crunch._

* * *

 

Peter came back to the present and realized he was on the ground, panting heavily. He could feel his heart hammering against his chest, and he willed himself to calm down. He was drawing a small crowd. Looking up, Peter saw a young couple and an older woman staring down at him. They seemed to be asking him something, but he couldn’t hear them over the blood rushing through his veins. He needed to get out of here.

He pushed himself off the ground, ignoring the hands trying to help him up. He waved them off and walked away quickly, breathing in and out deeply to get his body to calm down a bit. The world swam around him.

When his head was clear enough, Peter started forming another plan. The tower was out of the picture, apparently. He hoped to God the compound was still there.

But to get there, he needed a cab. To get a cab, he needed money.

Peter hated himself for what he was about to do.

He told himself that if it was someone who looked wealthy, then it wasn’t as bad. It was ok, because he actually needed the money. _Really_ needed it. He wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t a criminal. There had to be an exception for him, right?

An older gentleman with a dark gray suit appeared. He had gold cufflinks and shiny shoes. He looked well-off, so he probably had plenty of money to spare. Peter started following him. He trailed him from a distance for a short time, until they took a turn and the sidewalk was empty.

Pushing down the guilt that threatened to swallow him whole, Peter caught up with the gentleman and stealthily pulled him into an alleyway by the back of his jacket. He pressed the guy against the brick wall, gentle enough to not do any damage.

“Hey, hey, hey!” The man exclaimed, arms shooting up. He glanced at Peter over his shoulder, and Peter forced himself not to make eye contact. “What’s your name, son?” Peter refused to answer, focusing instead on his breathing. “My name is Ian. What—”

“Money.” He croaked, trying his best to sound demanding despite his pitiful-sounding voice.

“Okay,” Ian replied. “Okay, no problem. Let me grab it, alright?” He seemed to be pretty calm and placating, so Peter released his grip and took a step back. Ian kept his arms up as he slowly turned around to face him. With careful movements and open hands, he moved to reach into his jacket.

Suddenly, the man darted to the left, trying to run out of the alley. Of course, he didn’t know he was trying to run from an enhanced person. Peter easily grabbed his arm and pulled him back, bringing him deeper into the alley. It was then he noticed Ian pulling a phone out and typing in 9-1-1. They both froze, and the man’s finger hovered over the call button.

“Ian,” Peter whispered, his throat constricting. “Please don’t make me do this.”

With only a fraction of a second’s hesitation, Ian pressed the button. Before it even began ringing, Peter had grabbed it and thrown it against the wall, shattering it. In the same beat, he had Ian on the ground with his hands restrained in one of his own. With his free hand, Peter frantically started searching the man’s body for his wallet.

Unfortunately, Ian wasn’t giving up that easy. “Help! Help me!” He started screaming, writhing around underneath the weight above him.

“Please,” Peter nearly cried, “ _please_ stop.” When he didn’t, Peter actually did let out a small sob. With trembling hands, he grabbed a fistful of Ian’s hair, pulled back, and smacked his head onto the ground. It was enough to knock the man out cold, allowing Peter to easily find the wallet.

He stood up and took a few steps back from the body. He could hear Ian’s heartbeat, knew he was alive, but his mind kept telling him it was a lifeless body lying in front of him. As quickly as he could with his shaking hands, Peter grabbed the thick wad of cash—he was right, this man was wealthy. He ignored the credit cards and the license. He didn’t want any of that. He didn’t want to commit identity theft. He wasn’t a bad person. _He wasn’t a bad person_.

Peter tossed the wallet back to Ian’s body and ran off, the money held tightly in his fist and burning his palm. At a few blocks away he hailed another cab and immediately held up the money so he wouldn’t be kicked out again. He quietly murmured an address he still somehow had memorized, and the woman nodded and started driving.

Sighing, Peter leaned his head against the window and watched the buildings and people go by in a blur. This city felt so much like home, yet so different at the same time. He used to swing around Queens and help the “little guys.” He used to be a friendly and familiar face to these people. Maybe New York hadn’t changed, but maybe he had.

But he wasn’t a bad person.

Peter let his eyes slip shut, a tear rolling down his cheek.

_I’m not a bad person..._


	3. Chapter 3

By this point, Tony’s senses had dulled completely. He figured that his brain didn’t want any of the information, so his body stopped registering it. He still worked every day. He tinkered in his lab and built whatever shit anyone asked him to build. But he never really saw what he was doing, never felt the metal as he worked with it, never heard what people were saying to him. But his body kept functioning, day in and day out, because that’s what it had to do.

He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t working on autopilot. He couldn’t remember the last time he wished he wasn’t.

He was pushing— _had_ pushed— everyone in his life away, and he couldn’t say for certain if he’d done it on purpose or not. The compound was empty and lifeless without anyone else. Just Tony, his bots, and his AIs. That’s all he needed, if he needed anything at all.

May had been the first to go. After the funeral, she couldn’t stand seeing Tony keep looking for her child. He couldn’t stop bringing it up. Couldn’t help it, really. So she left.

Most of the Avengers left, for family or for other work. There was nothing more they could do, they said. Tony disagreed, but they left anyway.

Pepper stayed for a long time. Probably too long, if he was being honest. She always did give him too many chances to redeem himself. When Morgan came along, they both really thought Tony would pull himself together. For a while, he did. But then he slipped into old habits. He refused to come back out of it. So Pepper left, taking their toddler with her.

Now he had no one.

But he was getting used to it, and his current system seemed to be working for him just fine. It had been a while since he’d wanted to blow up his lab with him still in it, so that was good.

Tony looked down, his eyes taking a moment to refocus, and he realized he had finished his project. Another in a long list of requests from SHIELD for upgraded technology. At this point, putting these together was second nature. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to explain how he’d created it. His body just did it for him.

He sighed, pushed it over to make more room, and let his eyes drift out of focus again.

“FRIDAY, pull up—”

A loud bang followed by the muffled sound of yelling from above his workshop snapped him back into focus.

“FRIDAY, what was that?” He stood up, already walking towards the door.

“An intruder has been detected, and there seems to be a fight in progress.”

Before she could finish her sentence, he was out the door and hurrying to the elevator.

* * *

 

Getting into the compound had been easier than expected. Peter just walked through the front door and was met with a large, empty space. He had been running through options of what to say to someone so they’d let him pass, but what could he possibly say?

_It’s okay, I used to work here._

_I know Mr. Stark, I’m a family friend._

_I’m Peter Parker, AKA Spider-Man. You know, the one that’s been missing for years? Remember me?_

He just needed to get to Mr. Stark, then everything would be fine. And if his mentor hadn’t changed too much since Peter was gone, he knew the man would probably be in his lab. Doing what, Peter had no idea. He had spent a lot of time fantasizing about being back in the lab, working beside Mr. Stark like they used to. It would be good to get back to that.

Smiling a little to himself in anticipation, Peter pressed the elevator call button. After a moment without anything happening, he pressed it again. Still nothing.

He was about to ask FRIDAY—did Mr. Stark still have FRIDAY?—when the sound of footsteps alerted him of company. He turned to find three security guards coming towards him.

_Is three really necessary?_ Peter thought, scrunching his brow. _Don’t they have anything better to do?_

“This is private property. What are you doing here?” One of them spoke up.

“I need…” Peter coughed a little at his sore throat. This whole talking thing really wasn’t coming back easy. “I need to see Mr. Stark,” he said hoarsely.

“Not gonna happen, buddy,” another guard said, reaching to grab Peter’s arm. He flinched and took a step back.

“He knows me,” he insisted, holding his hands up in surrender. “Please, he’ll want to see me.” Even Peter had to admit he sounded pathetic.

“ _Sure_ he will,” the third one said sarcastically. The guards all shared a glance before coming in to surround him.

“No, really,” Peter coughed, feeling panic seep into his skin. He clenched his fists and hunched over defensively. If he could just make them _understand_.

“Alright, that’s enough,” a guard said. Suddenly there was a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and two on his arms. Someone had ahold of his left wrist. Someone was pushing him forward. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes.

* * *

 

_Everyone was always touching him. Fingers poked around in his mouth, hands grabbed and pulled on his hair or skin, arms held him down on the ground, pressing on his throat to subdue him._

_The last one was his least favorite._

_Peter wasn’t even sure what he had done this time. Maybe he hadn’t done anything. Sometimes they just liked to mess with him, or take out their own personal issues on him._

_He squirmed from his place on the floor, head growing heavy with pressure from lack of blood flow and oxygen. He could feel the pain creeping up behind his eyes as he stared blankly at the ceiling above him. The arm pressed down harder, and Peter opened and closed him mouth, trying and failing to take in air._

_He felt someone grab his ankles and hold them down, too. Someone else sat on his legs. He wasn’t going anywhere._

_His body was panicking, jerking as much as it could to try breaking free, but it was futile. Fuzziness appeared at the side of his vision, and the darkness slowly seeped in. His muscles relaxed on their own, his body’s way of giving up and accepting death._

_Peter knew he wouldn’t be so lucky._

* * *

 

He came back to the present on the ceiling. He clung to it for dear life as he tried to manage his breathing. Below him, the guards seemed frozen. What exactly can you do when the person you’re trying to apprehend climbs up a wall?

Peter adjusted his fingers nervously. He wasn’t sure where to go from here.

“What the hell is going—”

The voice cut off, but that didn’t stop Peter from recognizing it in an instant. He’d know that voice anywhere. He’d been hearing it in his mind for years, replaying their times together like a movie to lull him to sleep, or sometimes imagining Mr. Stark coming to the rescue, just to keep him from feeling hopeless.

His eyes met Mr. Stark’s from across the room, and Peter felt his chest nearly burst with happiness and relief. _Finally_.

He dropped from the ceiling, landing kind of hard on his knees but not caring, and rushed toward his old mentor. At just a few feet away, the guards grabbed him again and tried to pull him back.

“ _No_ ,” he screeched, fear bubbling up. He would _not_ come this far just to be dragged away. He looked desperately at the man in front of him, reaching forward with one hand just out of reach. “Mr. Stark,” he rasped. “Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark.” Peter knew he was babbling, but didn’t really care if he sounded crazy. The name was like a mantra keeping him grounded, reminding him that this was real and not just another dream.

But then Mr. Stark took a step back. He looked… angry? Peter paused.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” Mr. Stark’s voice was thick with venom, and he looked at Peter with so much contempt that he felt himself wince. “ _Get out of here_.” The man tried to turn away, but Peter wasn’t going to give up. He _had_ to get him to understand.

With only a bit of effort, Peter ripped himself free from the guards. Almost instinctively, he shoved two of them away and sent them careening into the walls. He swung his leg out to take care of the last one.

Mr. Stark was looking at him again. Peter approached slowly, holding up his trembling hands. He tried not to pay too much attention to the hatred in his mentor’s eyes. Didn’t he know who he was? Did Mr. Stark forget about him?

“It’s me,” he whispered, on the verge of breaking into tears. “Peter.” _Please remember_.

The man flinched at the name, and Peter watched as a hundred different emotions flickered over his face. Pain, fear, anger, sadness. He finally settled on a blank expression, nodding to the guards to come forward again.

“Take him to an interrogation room.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * fic rises from the grave like a zombie*
> 
> Anyway, sorry it has taken me forever and a day to update this. In case you don't remember what has happened in this story and don't want to reread:
> 
> Peter has been missing for 9 years, but is back in NY. He tried to find May, but couldn't, so instead tried to find Tony. Peter has made it to the compound, and after a brief scuffle with security, he was taken to an interrogation room by request of Tony. And that's what you missed on Glee!
> 
> Thank you for not giving up on my story! All of your kind comments and feedback have been wonderful to hear, so I really hope you all like this update.

It didn’t take long for Bruce to show up after being called, much to Tony’s gratitude. He’d been a pretty lousy—honestly, _shitty_ —friend lately, so Tony was surprised anyone would still be there for him in his time of need.

“What is it, Tony?” Bruce asked, his tone calm but far from friendly.

“Did you bring what I asked?” He knew he wasn’t helping to ease the tension, but at the moment Tony had other priorities.

“Yeah, it’s in here,” he replied, gesturing to a case he was holding. Bruce sighed. “What’s going on? This is the first time you’ve spoken to me in,” he shook his head, “I don’t even know how long.” Tony hadn’t been very specific over the phone. On one hand, he hadn’t wanted to sound crazy. On the other hand, he was still coming to terms with what was going on himself.

Tony placed a hand on Bruce’s upper back and started walking them down the hall. “You said you’d be able to match DNA to our records, right?” A nod came as a response. “I need you to do that. I’ve got someone in custody, and he says he’s…” Tony’s voice caught in his throat. He’d made a point of avoiding that name for a long time. It felt foreign on his tongue now.

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice was laced with worry now, the terse and unfriendly tone forgotten. They stopped outside of a large metal door.

“He’s claiming to be the kid, Bruce,” he rasped. He felt his hand start to shake, so he grabbed it in his other and squeezed nervously.

“The kid?” Bruce asked, brow furrowed. After a few moments, it seemed to click and he took an uneasy breath. “Tony…”

“I know, Bruce. I know. It sounds crazy and it’s probably not true, but—” Tony floundered for a minute, trying to look everywhere but at his friend or at the door looming in front of him. “We never found a body, remember? And-and this guy, he was climbing up the walls. I saw it myself, and I’ve never seen anyone else do that before, no one, except…”

“Except Peter,” Bruce finished the thought. Tony looked at him miserably, his heart beating so hard his chest hurt.

“It could be him,” he whispered.

“You don’t seem very happy about that,” Bruce said. Tony looked to the floor and sniffed.

“What if I don’t want it to be him?” His voice was small, but he wasn’t sure he could speak any louder through the knot in his throat.

“Tony, why—”

“Because I gave up on him, Bruce,” he choked out, breathing raggedly. “He was out there somewhere, waiting for me to find him, and I stopped looking for him.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it anxiously. “I should’ve tried harder, but I just gave up. I failed him.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Bruce said. “It had been _years_ and no one had any leads. There was nothing else you could’ve done.”

Tony shook his head, because there’s always something more he could have done. If he had just worked harder. If he had just kept trying a little longer. If he had just been _better_.

“You need to get out of your own mind, Tony. This might not even be Peter.”

Bruce was trying to console him; Tony knew that. But he also knew, deep down, that it _was_ Peter. He had known the second they made eye contact, he just didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to admit what it meant. He didn’t want to have to tell the kid— _his_ kid—he had given up on finding him years ago.

Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to have that conversation.

 

* * *

 

Peter was confused. He had imagined this reunion thousands of times for God knows how long, and it never ended up like this. He wanted someone to wrap their arms around him and tell him how much he was missed. He thought people would be _happy_ to see him.

The handcuffs around his wrists jangled softly while he picked nervously at his fingers resting on the table. The metal was thin and relatively flimsy, and Peter knew he could break out of them without even batting an eye. His captors had been a lot more generous with their use of vibranium.

The door opened, and Peter’s heartbeat picked up as Tony and Bruce walked through.

“Dr. Banner,” he breathed. The doctor looked at him with obvious suspicion, but Peter also detected shock in his expression. Bruce glanced at Tony and they shared a meaningful look.

“He’s here to take a DNA sample,” Tony said, his tone sharp. He was refusing to look in Peter’s direction.

Bruce smiled tightly, awkwardly, and held up a small box before taking a step towards Peter’s side of the table. Peter tensed and pulled back, just barely stopping himself from ripping free of the handcuffs.

“Why?” He hissed, glancing back and forth at each man.

“ _Why_?” Tony responded, eyebrows going up. “So we can see if you are who you say you are, _that’s_ why.” His harsh tone made Peter flinch. Did they really think he was lying?

“If you could turn your arm over on the table for me,” Bruce asked quietly, coming closer. It was then Peter noticed the small syringe in his hand.

Peter grunted in surprise. In one swift movement he was standing, suddenly free of the handcuffs, and they clattered to the ground by his feet. He took a step back from the table and shook his head. “No,” he whispered, “please. Please, don’t…” He held up his hands in front of his body defensively. He had spent the past God knows how many years having his DNA taken over and over again. He couldn’t keep doing it. Especially not from the people he was supposed to trust.

“It’s okay,” Bruce soothed, holding up his free hand. “It’ll be really quick, I promise.”

“I… I can’t,” Peter stuttered, panic rising in his chest. He looked back and forth between the syringe and Bruce, silently begging him to back off. “Please, I—”

“Sit down, _now_!”

Before Peter could even process what Tony had yelled, he followed the orders. He sat back down in his chair with his back straight and his arm held out on the table obediently. He faced forward with a schooled expression, pushing the panic away. The need to obey was more important. If Tony wanted him to sit, he would sit. Peter didn’t usually like what happened when he disobeyed orders.

The room was eerily quiet for a long moment. Then, with hesitation, Bruce went back to his job. He rolled up Peter’s sleeve, revealing a few deep scars scattered across his skin. He had to press around the inside of his elbow to find somewhere to pierce that wasn’t scar tissue.

Nothing more was said. Bruce silently packed away his things when he finished, sending one last apologetic look Peter’s way. Tony left without even glancing at him.

Peter sighed and slumped back in his chair, running his fingers over the bandage on the inside of his arm. Bruce had been so gentle, Peter had barely felt anything at all. He put his head down on the table and let his eyes shut.

* * *

 

Bruce needed a little time to test the DNA, so Tony left him to his work and went down to his workshop, hoping to distract himself. He couldn’t, of course, but he figured that maybe if he pretended hard enough then it would happen.

After screwing and unscrewing the same bolt for the twentieth time, he tossed his tool to the side and groaned, burying his face in his hands. He couldn’t get the kid’s face when Tony yelled at him out of his mind. He wanted him to sit down, sure, but not like _that_. He had reacted as if Tony had given him an electric shock like a dog. The kid was so… _obedient_.

 _The kid_. Tony scoffed, and his heart was heavy with the realization that this wasn’t a kid he was dealing with. If it really was… _him_ … that meant he was in his twenties. There were more than a few missed birthdays in there.

Tony remembered the first year August rolled around and they still hadn’t found the kid. May had still baked a cake—burnt it, really, but whatever. He and Pepper had gone over to their apartment to comfort her, but the night mostly consisted of them sitting around and watching the cake grow cold on the table. It was thrown away the next day without one bit taken from it.

That had been his 16th birthday. Tony had wanted to buy him his first car, something flashy and expensive that would definitely make the kid nervous and twitchy. Then they missed his 18th birthday, and Tony had wished he could see the kid off to college. His 21st came and went, and Tony vaguely remembered wanting to give the kid his first beer. That was something he never had with his own dad.

But now none of that could happen. They had missed every single momentous birthday that kid would have.

“Friday,” Tony said hoarsely, swiping a hand over his face.

“Yes, Boss?”

“Pull up Leg Eight.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “Are you sure, Boss?”

“Yes, Fri,” he said, exasperated. His AI was probably right to be hesitant. This probably wasn’t a good id—

“ _Hey, Mr. Stark_!”

Tony felt all the air leave his lungs at the familiar voice echoing throughout his workshop. Damn, he really got that inflection just right. So right it hurt.

“ _It’s been a while, Mr. Stark_ ,” the voice continued. Tony had programmed it to ramble like that. He had wanted to make it as realistic as possible. “ _I mean, not that I could really tell it’s been a while. Until now I didn’t even know time passed. But I know the date, you know? So I can tell it’s been a while. How have you been_?”

Tony coughed out a wet laugh, a sad sort of happiness welling up in his chest. It really felt like the kid was here with him again. It was as if Tony could turn around and there he would be, spinning in a chair and chattering on about his day at school. Just like old times.

“ _Are you okay, Mr. Stark_?” The AI managed to sound so genuinely worried, Tony wondered if he had done it—if he had managed to give artificial intelligence actual emotions.

“’Course, kiddo,” he replied, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“ _You seem kinda sad_ ,” the kid—the _AI_ —continued. “ _You know, you really shouldn’t bottle up your emotions like that. You’re gonna explode one day, Mr. Stark_.”

Tony chuckled, but it quickly turned into harsh breaths as he struggled not to fall apart. “I just… I just really miss you, kid,” he choked out. A sob threatened to burst out of him, but he knew if he let it then he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from a meltdown.

“ _Oh, well, I miss y—_ ”

“Shut it off, Fri,” Tony nearly yelled, balling his fists up. “Please, make it stop. Make it stop.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Leg Eight has been shut down, Boss,” Friday replied, her voice a welcome change. Now he remembered why he stopped using this program in the first place.

Tony forced himself to breathe in and out slowly. A dark wave of misery threatened to overwhelm him, so he covered his face again and held back another sob. It just hurt so goddamn much. It was like something had a grip on his chest and was squeezing every ounce of life from him. Why did it have to feel like this?

“Boss, incoming call from Dr. Banner,” Friday interrupted, sounding almost apologetic. Tony sat up, heart sinking into his stomach.

“Tony? I got the results,” Bruce said over the speaker. Tony couldn’t even reply. His mouth had gone dry, and his face felt numb. He could barely even breathe. “It’s him, Tony. It’s Peter.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the warm reception back! Your comments were amazing, so I hope you guys continue to like the story.

Peter had briefly fallen into a restless sleep while he waited for Tony and Bruce to finish testing his blood. He startled himself awake soon after, however, with the thought that he was still in captivity. The small interrogation room he was being kept in did little to help him feel like he was free.

Antsy, he stood and paced the room. He let his fingers trail along the wall as he walked, feeling the small bumps and chips in the paint to ground himself. This wasn’t a cell. The walls weren’t made of cold concrete. He wasn’t trapped here.

Except, he kind of was. Peter glanced at the door, knowing that it was probably reinforced with the best locks money could buy. Even if he used all his strength, Peter wasn’t sure he’d be able to break out.

Just as his anxiety about being caged-in started to spike, the door opened and a new kind of anxiety took over. As quickly as possible, he darted back into his seat and sat up straight. He looked down at the table and stayed still, hoping people would be less angry with him if he caused less trouble.

“Kid…” The voice was soft, so quiet only Peter would be able to hear it. He looked up slowly until he met Tony’s gaze, and there was so much grief in his expression Peter had to look away.

“Hi, Mr. Stark,” he replied just as quietly. He suddenly felt self-conscious. Peter had been gone for years, surely, and now he just showed up out of the blue and expected a welcome party. Maybe he was being too presumptuous coming to the compound.

His attention snapped back to the present when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. He looked up to see Tony offering a tight smile.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Peter nodded and let Tony guide him out of the room and down the hall. Being able to walk around freely and being able to see the world outside the windows made Peter relax a bit.

They paused outside of a seemingly familiar door, and Tony’s hand hovered over the doorknob, shaking ever so slightly. He took a deep breath as if to steel himself and opened the door, gesturing for Peter to go in. When the light went on, he realized why it had felt familiar.

This was his old room, exactly as it had been before. The bedsheets, Iron Man-themed as a joke, were rumpled slightly, never having been tidied up by Peter himself. The TV on one side of the room still had a couple video game controllers left out in front of it, like someone had hit pause and never come back to it. The air was stagnant and musty, and Peter could see dust particles floating around. He wondered how long it had been since someone had come in here.

“You kept it all,” Peter said, more of a statement than a question. When he looked at Tony he watched the older man sniff and cross his arms.

“Well, you know,” Tony said, then cut himself off by clearing his throat. He shrugged and looked away, so Peter just continued to look around. He moved over to his dresser and ran a finger over the top, leaving a trail in the dust.

A box left on the dresser caught his attention, so he picked it up and turned it in his hands. It was an unopened LEGO set, brand new—or, at least, it _had been_ brand new.

* * *

 

_Peter twirled the box in his hands, listening to the plastic pieces tumbling around in the cardboard. He could practically see the excitement in Ned’s face already at the new LEGO set. They’d been talking about getting this for weeks, and Peter had finally saved up enough on his own to get it as a surprise._

_He was so busy picturing his friend’s excitement, he pushed aside his spidey sense that was niggling at the back of his neck. He hadn’t been paying attention to the van creeping closer to the sidewalk and coming to a stop. He hadn’t noticed the men step out and walk swiftly up behind him. He didn’t realize anything was wrong until it was too late._

_Until he heard the sound of metal cracking against bone._

_Until suddenly he was face-first on the concrete._

_Until a blinding pain in his skull flared._

_Until he passed out and woke up in a cell._

* * *

 

Peter sucked in a deep, painful breath. His body was so tense his muscles ached. He moaned and wheezed, trying to get his breathing back under control, but his chest burned and he felt the panic rising back up again.

“Shh, I’ve got you, kiddo,” a voice mumbled. Peter opened his eyes—he hadn’t even realized he was squeezing them shut. The first thing he saw was a t-shirt, stained with oil and faded with age. He pulled back a little from where his face had been buried in someone’s chest. His hands were still gripping parts of the shirt in tight fists, and he couldn’t quite relax himself enough to let go.

Peter took slow, halting breaths as he looked around. They were still in his room, but now they were both sitting on the floor. He was practically sitting in Tony’s lap, and the man had his arms wrapped tightly around Peter, holding him firmly while rubbing comforting circles on his back.

“You back with me?” Tony asked, leaning back enough to look Peter in the eye. Peter nodded slightly and, suddenly embarrassed at his outburst, forced himself to let go of the man’s shirt. His fists had left wrinkles in the fabric.

“S-sorry,” he whispered, trying to stand up. Tony had to help him to his feet and didn’t let go until he was steady.

“You don’t have to apologize. It happens.” The understanding look in Tony’s expression comforted Peter, so he nodded and let his muscles relax. “Do you need help cleaning up?” Tony asked, and Peter immediately felt like a little kid, something he hadn’t experienced for a long time. He almost smiled.

“No, thank you,” he replied.

“Okay, well, if you need anything, FRIDAY can help you,” Tony said. Peter nodded and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and the image staring back at him was startling, to say the least. He didn’t recognize himself anymore, and he actually understood why they needed to test his DNA to make sure he was actually himself. He ran his fingers over his face, feeling the grease and dirt that had gathered over time. He very rarely got to bathe himself, and when he did it was hardly enough to actually feel clean. And now here he was, standing alone in a bathroom bigger than his room had been for the past few years. He had everything he would need to feel like a normal person again.

Peter rifled through the cabinets, grabbing shampoo and conditioner, soap, a razor. He even grabbed things he had never used before, like some expensive-looking moisturizer, after-shave that smelled like Tony, and a bottle of something he couldn’t immediately identify. He gathered everything in front of him, feeling a little overwhelmed. He sighed and looked at himself in the mirror again.

Time to get to work. 

* * *

 

Tony made his way to the kitchen. He couldn’t help but feel like he was in a dream—a nightmare, maybe. He half expected to wake up any second to the realization that the kid wasn’t here at all. Was still missing. Was probably dead.

He shook himself out of the thought and started rummaging around for ingredients. The kid looked too skinny, like he was starving. Tony focused all his energy on making spaghetti. It was quick, easy, and would hopefully fill him up. Tony wondered briefly if he still had such a high metabolism now that he was older. _God_ , he thought, _he’s an adult now._

Just as he was finishing up his cooking, he glanced over to see the kid walking up. Tony nearly dropped the entire pot of pasta onto the floor.

That was Peter. There was no denying it now, and absolutely no doubt in his mind.

The kid had cleaned himself up nicely. His face was freshly shaved, revealing a hint of those baby cheeks he used to have. His hair was cut shorter now, a choppy and slightly uneven job, but at least it was out of his face. He had on an old pair of Tony’s sweats and a t-shirt. The clothes were even a tad too short on him, and Tony realized he had to look up to the kid now.

“Peter,” he breathed, nearly choking on the name. He hadn’t said it in such a long time it felt foreign in his mouth. He hadn’t really expected to ever say it again. Realizing he was just staring dumbly at the kid, Tony cleared his throat and put a plate of spaghetti in front of a stool at the counter. When Peter didn’t do anything in response, he gestured to the food. “Eat up. You look like you need it.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone look so lovingly at a plate of food in his entire life. Peter’s eyes went wide and he eagerly sat down and dug in, shoving forkfuls of pasta into his mouth. Tony wasn’t even sure he was chewing.

“Woah, slow down!” Tony chuckled. “You’re gonna ch…” He trailed off when Peter dropped his fork and leaned away from the plate. He looked terrified. “What—”

“I’m sorry,” the kid whispered.

“You don’t…” Tony sighed. “You don’t need to be sorry, kid. I was just joking. The food’s not going anywhere, you can take your time eating.” Peter looked up at him warily, as if asking permission to continue. Tony forced a smile and nodded, and the kid resumed eating at a much slower pace.

_What happened to you?_ The question danced on the edge of Tony’s tongue, but he held it back. As selfish as it was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

As he watched Peter eat, Tony took note of the things he hadn’t paid attention to before. Peter had faint white scars all over his hands. His wrists looked like they were recovering from being rubbed raw, with scabs healing over blisters. A particularly long scar running down his bicep that looked like it came from a deep gash had Tony finally turning away. Guilt gnawed at his heart.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked timidly. Tony looked at him with a forced smile.  

“Yeah, kid?”

“Where’s May?” His eyes were wide, somehow haunted but recognizably innocent. Tony frowned and looked away, eyes searching the countertop like it would hold an answer.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

It was true, to be fair. He hadn’t heard from the boy’s aunt in years. What he didn’t want to admit was that the last time they’d spoken, it was a fight. For the last few months they’d been in contact, it had always been tense. May had moved in with him and Pepper after losing her job and subsequently her apartment. They’d all worked so hard to find her kid, but after two years passed most people had decided it was a lost cause. They all wanted closure. May and Pepper had arranged the funeral together.

Tony did not attend it. He had refused to stop looking for Peter. He accused everyone of things he’d live to regret saying later on.

_How can you say you love him? You don’t even care if we find him._

That had earned him a slap from May. He certainly deserved it. After that they stopped talking, and a few months later it was Pepper who gave him the news that May had moved out without saying where she was headed.

And that was that.

“I’ll find her, I promise,” Tony added. A small smile ghosted over Peter’s mouth, and he looked wistfully at the empty plate of food in front of him.

“Do you think she’ll be happy to see me?”

“Oh, _kid_ ,” Tony nearly laughed. “She’s going to be so relieved. She thought you were—we _all_ thought you…” He sucked in a breath and braced himself on the counter, feeling a familiar anguish wash over him. _It’s okay now_ , he reminded himself. _He’s alive. He’s here, and he’s alive_.

“You thought I was what?” Peter asked quietly, looking suddenly like he was fifteen again, just a child.

“We thought… We thought that you were dead,” he replied, trying to keep his voice even. Peter looked taken aback.

“What? Why?”

“Well,” Tony started, dread filling his chest. “Peter, you were gone for a long time. After two years passed, we still didn’t have any leads. We weren’t any closer to finding you.”

“Two years?” Peter’s brows furrowed.

“I know it sounds too early to jump to conclusions, but people needed to find closure. I kept trying, I really did,” he insisted, needing the kid to know how hard he had tried. He didn’t know how to convey it without telling him how many nights he went without sleep, how many people he interrogated, how many parts of his life he ruined, just to try to find him. “I did everything I could to find you, but I…” He sighed. “After a few more years without getting any further, I just—”

“A _few more_ years?” Peter looked dumbstruck, and Tony got ready to apologize for giving up. He was prepared to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, but he knew there was never anything he could ever do to make up for it.

“Kid—”

“How long was I gone?”

“What?” Tony looked at Peter, who was leaning forward in his seat with both hands on the countertop.

“How long have I been gone?”

“Nine years,” he answered.

Peter sat back in his chair, staring off into space with his mouth slightly open. “ _Nine_?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“How long did you think you’ve been missing?”

Peter shrugged, looking dazed. “Not sure. A couple years, I figured. I stopped thinking about it after a while, so I guess I just never imagined… _Nine years_.” He stood up from his seat and swayed slightly.

“Hey, you alright?” Tony made to move around the counter and help him, but Peter held his hands up.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark. Um, could I…?” He stood awkwardly rooted to the spot and glanced back at the hallway.

“Yeah, of course,” Tony nodded, understanding what the kid wanted even after all this time. “Go get some rest. I’m here if you need anything.”

Peter nodded silently and made his way back to his room, looking uneasy on his feet and like a slight wind would topple him over. Once his door was shut, Tony allowed himself to bury his face in his hands for about twenty seconds, then he stood up straight and braced himself with a deep breath. He had an aunt to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, I'm trying to come up with different ways to incorporate the 9 years Peter spent in captivity. I feel like I might be overdoing the flashbacks a little lol. Would entire chapters of flashbacks to that period of time interest anyone? Or if anyone has any other ideas, I'd love to hear them!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the sweet comments! I also really appreciate the feedback about the flashbacks, I'm gonna try to incorporate some of your advice, and I probably won't do whole chapters of flashbacks.
> 
> Also quick warning: There's a little bit of self-harm in this chapter, kinda? I don't know, just be aware and careful if that's something that bothers you a lot. I just wanna be sure no one is taken by surprise.

_Peter found himself submerged in water. He couldn’t see anything, but he also wasn’t entirely sure if his eyes were even open. Lungs burning for relief, he tried to swim up, down, any which way to find the surface. His arms swung out, but only made it a few inches before hitting a hard surface. He tried pushing in front of himself, but found a similar solid barrier under his palms and against his shoulder blades._

_He was trapped._

_He was in a coffin._

_He couldn’t breathe._

_Was he dead?_

_Suddenly he was strapped to a table, able to breathe again but unable to move. His body was paralyzed, but he felt the leather straps holding his wrists and ankles down. One wrapped around his throat, just a little too tight, but he couldn’t open his mouth to ask for it to be loosened._

_Shadowy, faceless figures above him spoke to each other in an incomprehensible gibberish. Hands roamed over his naked body. A cold, wet point drew down his front from his chest to his abdomen, and he struggled to see what it was, only catching a glimpse of the marker from where his head stayed absolutely still._

_Pain. Sharp, white-hot pain. Peter wanted to scream. He wanted to thrash and fight and slide off the table so he could make an escape._

_But he couldn’t move an inch. He could only stare at the ceiling in agony as they cut into his chest, split him open and tore him apart like he was a dead animal. He heard the blood drip onto the floor, heard metal scrape against bone, heard his flesh rip apart while he did nothing to stop it._

_More gibberish came from the men around him. He glanced down as far as his eyes could see, watching as a hand dipped into his chest, further than it should have been able to go. When the hand emerged, it held a fist-sized organ, dripping blood. It beat rhythmically in the hand._

_“Peter.” His eyes slid up the arm, searching for a face in the shadows. The man leaned in closer, bringing the heart with him and holding it up next to Peter’s ear._

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

_Peter caught sight of a familiar beard, and the rest of the face came into focus. Mr. Stark smiled down at him, his eyes cold and uncaring. He squeezed the heart in his fist, and Peter felt it, choking out a small cry at the pain that radiated down his entire body._

_“Peter.”_

_Thump thump thump._

_“Peter.”_

_Thumpthumpthump._

_“Peter!”_  

* * *

 

The freedom of movement came back to Peter all of a sudden, and he opened his eyes while sucking in a deep breath. Someone was standing above him, holding his shoulders tightly. He glanced up and saw the same beard from his dream.

Gasping, choking on air, Peter tried to pull away, getting tangled in blankets in his efforts. The heavy material held his legs down, and he felt himself panicking, wondering if he was still paralyzed.

Suddenly the blankets were gone, having been pulled off and thrown to the floor. He looked over to see Tony standing to the side of his bed, one hand still holding the discarded duvet. He looked scared shitless.

Peter curled into himself, tucking his legs up to his chest. He shoved a hand into his mouth, biting down hard to hold back the sobs and screams he desperately wanted to release. He wasn’t supposed to make loud noises. He had to be quiet. He had to be nothing.

A weight shifted onto the bed and he felt a hand pulling at his wrist.

“Hey, none of that, come on,” Tony said, his voice surprisingly low and calm. Peter let the man pull his hand from his mouth, watching him carefully as his hand was inspected.

When he was allowed to, Peter pulled his hand back to his body and nursed it with his other. His thumb swiped over the teeth marks he had left, smearing some of the blood.

“That’s a pretty deep wound, buddy,” Tony said softly. His eyes were warm and inviting, and Peter felt himself wanting to drown in the comfort he hoped they’d provide. He looked at his own hand. It was deep, bleeding enough to drip down his wrist. It’d heal in a few hours. “Why don’t we clean that up, hm?” Tony continued. He looked hesitant, and he opened and closed his mouth, as if searching for the right words. “Can I clean it up for you, kiddo?”

Peter watched him for a moment before nodding a little. Tony smiled and stood, holding out a welcoming hand.

An image of Tony holding out a bleeding heart flashed briefly in his mind. Peter stared at the hand, trying to convince himself it wasn’t about to plunge into his chest and rip him apart.

Ignoring the hand, Peter stood up from the bed, arms wrapped around himself protectively. He followed Tony out of the room, staying a few feet behind him just to be safe. 

* * *

 

Tony hadn’t expected to be up at four in the morning, sitting in the living room and cleaning up a bloody, self-inflicted bite mark on Peter’s hand, but then again, nothing lately had been anything he could have expected. He had woken up to Friday telling him the kid was in distress, so he ran as quickly as he could to the room down the hall. The sight had been pitiful.

Peter was stiff as a board, muscles shaking as they strained to stay still. The kid’s breathing was erratic, and he was clearly hyperventilating in his sleep. Small whimpers were escaping his lips in-between heaving breaths. Tony decided he hated that sound.

The complete lack of sound coming from the kid as he cleaned up the wound was pretty alarming, though. He swiped an antiseptic wipe over the area, not receiving so much as a flinch. Tony remembered having to clean the kid up as Spider-Man and complaining that he wouldn’t stop hissing at the slightest touch. Somehow this seemed worse.

Tony finished wrapping up the hand and set it gently on Peter’s lap. He once again found himself glancing at the scars and marks on his arms.

“Peter?” The kid looked at him, his expression unnervingly blank. “Have you…” He dropped the question. _Have you seen a doctor?_ He knew the answer to that without asking. He rephrased it, carefully choosing his words. “I think,” he started, trying his best to make it sound like a friendly suggestion, “you should see a doctor.”

Peter stiffened slightly, almost unnoticeably. Uneasiness painted his expression, and he bit his bottom lip. “Do I have to?” His voice was small. He sounded like a child, and Tony wanted to wrap him up in a hug so tight nothing would ever be able to get to him again. Instead, he sighed.

“You don’t have to do anything, Peter.” 

* * *

 

It wasn’t hard for Tony to find May Parker once he sat down and actually looked. She wasn’t hiding from him. If anything, Tony felt like he was hiding from her.

He quickly found out that she lived in Phoenix and still worked as an emergency room nurse. He looked up her address to see where she was living, and to make sure it wasn’t in squalor. He knew the Parkers had never been rich by any means, and he would’ve hated to find that she’d been struggling financially on her own while Tony did nothing to help. Not that she’d welcome his help, but still.

Once he started finding information on her social security number and credit score, he figured he should probably stop. He didn’t want to dig into her personal information, he just needed to contact her. He tracked down her cell number and punched it into his phone.

His thumb hovered above the call button.

This was for Peter. He needed to do this for Peter.

He pressed call.

Tony drummed his fingers nervously on the desk as he listened to the phone ring once, twice. In the middle of the third ring, someone picked up.

“ _Hello?_ ” _May_. He was surprised that after all these years he still recognized her voice as if he’d just finished speaking with her. But suddenly, his mouth felt too dry. He couldn’t seem to form any words. “ _Anyone there?_ ” May continued.

What was he supposed to say? This didn’t feel like something you should reveal in a casual chat over the phone. What words could possibly prepare May for what she was about to hear?

“ _Hm, okay_ ,” May hummed to herself, and Tony’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Don’t hang up,” he urged. He waited, holding his breath, praying that the next sound he heard wouldn’t be the click of the call disconnecting.

“… _Tony?_ ”

“Yeah,” he said. “Uh, hi, May. How’ve you been?”

“ _Cut the bullshit, we both know you don’t do small talk. What do you want, Stark?_ ” Tony wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. This was simultaneously exactly what he had expected and also exactly what he didn’t want.

“Yeah, that’s… that’s fair.” He cleared his throat, mind suddenly blank. “Listen, there’s something you need to know. It’s, uh… pretty big.” He waited, but May didn’t respond. He kept going anyway. “Someone showed up at the compound yesterday. I thought he was lying about who he was. I didn’t think…” He took a deep breath. “Well, we ran some blood tests. Turns out he wasn’t lying. He, uh—“

“ _Tony_ ,” May cut him off, her voice quiet and controlled. “ _Who was it?_ ” The slight quiver in her voice suggested she already knew.

“Peter.” He stayed quiet, listening to May’s breathing as it sped up. It sounded like she set the phone down, and he heard a distant sob. He waited for her to come back.

“ _And he’s…?_ ” May sniffled.

“Yeah, he’s alive.”

“ _Oh, my God_ ,” she breathed, crying softly over the phone. Tony thought it sounded like she was covering her mouth, as if to stifle the noise. “ _Where_ ,” a shaky breath, “ _where are you? I’ll book a flight, I… Tony, I—_ ” She cut herself off with another sob.

“I’ll figure out the arrangements, May, don’t worry about that. But,” he hesitated, mulling the words over in his mind. “There’s something else you should know.”

A sniffle. “ _Yeah, okay. What is it?_ ”

“The kid, he’s not…” Tony sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “May, I don’t know what happened to him. I don’t know where he’s been or what he’s been through for the past nine years, but it’s—he’s—” He closed his eyes. “He’s not okay. I just want you to be prepared when you see him. He’s not the same kid we lost.”

A long beat of silence followed. “ _Alright_ ,” May said softly, and he really hoped she understood. “ _Thank you, Tony_.”

They said their goodbyes and he hung up, wondering what he had possibly done to deserve her thanks. 

* * *

 

Peter sat in the empty hallway outside of Tony’s office, knees pulled up to his chest and back against the wall. As the phone call between his aunt and Tony ended, he got up and skittered off so he wouldn’t be caught eavesdropping.

_He’s not okay._

Peter knew that, he really did. He knew it wasn’t normal to be afraid of everything all the time. He knew it wasn’t healthy to feel like at any moment he might wake up back in his cell. He knew all of this, but it still hurt to hear someone else—someone he loved—say it.

 _He’s not the same kid we lost_.

Peter found himself in a bathroom, clutching the sink almost tight enough to shatter it. He looked at himself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the man looking back. He lifted a hand up to touch his cheek, making sure the reflection was actually his own. Making sure he was actually real.

If he wasn’t the same person who had been taken away all those years ago, then who was he? As he stared at himself in the mirror, searching for something recognizable, he realized that he had no idea.


End file.
